


Mornings After Don't Always Suck

by zhem1x5



Series: Aprilnowrimo '11 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I have no excuse except writing at 3am, M/M, Morning After, overhanded cliche, post-sex, slightly tongue-in-cheek, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhem1x5/pseuds/zhem1x5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the War Harry believes he deserves a bit of rest and relaxation, the rest of the Wizarding World doesn't quite agree and when he wakes up in bed with Draco Malfoy, Harry can't quite fault them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings After Don't Always Suck

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously no excuse for this at all, just a bit of fun.
> 
> Woefully un-beta'd

The hot trickle of come seeping out of his arse woke Harry with a jolt, blurry eyes squinting to take in the unfamiliar room. It looked like one of the singles in the Leaky Cauldron. Crud had built up on the window panes and the whole room was in need of a thorough dusting. Three of them.

But he shouldn't have been at the Leaky, he should have been semi-safely ensconced in the dark and dreary halls of Grimmauld Place. Never to be seen again if Kreacher had his way. The hateful old elf had probably sent him here in a fit of pique at Harry's 'frequent' drunkenness. Though he had technically saved the Wizarding World—nearly died doing it, or had, depending on one's belief in out of body experiences or faith in Dumbledore—so Harry felt he deserved a little relaxing time off. The Daily Prophet—and Kreacher—did not agree. They—the Prophet—ran daily tabloids filled with the details of his seemingly rampant partying and promiscuity. He—Kreacher—took great pleasure in spreading the filth across Harry's waiting breakfast. Spiteful old bastard.

He—Harry—was more than ready to be done with the whole lot of them. If only Hermione wouldn't have his balls for murdering—er, planning a much needed vacation for the ancient elf. Oddly enough she had no compunctions against his terrorist bombing of the Daily Prophet, only shaking her head when Ron offered his assistance. Most days Harry felt like the only one really needing a holiday was himself. And then something would happen to remind him that, defeated dark wizard or no, life fucking sucked.

Like the decidedly male arm that wrapped around his chest and pulled him back against a chest lacking some very important parts. Of course the clincher was the extremely male organ currently trying to drill for oil. In his lower back.

Harry leapt as far away as the slim bed would allow, hands wrapping around the wand he found buried in the blankets. Not that wand, Potter, he hissed to himself.

Pale hands lifted in mock surrender, arms shifting as the man in the bed tried to cover his laughter.

Harry wanted to tell him he wasn't doing himself any favours, but then his eyes travelled over those shapely arms to broad shoulders and a strong neck and finally the handsome face and shining grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Who was still naked. And half-hard. In the bed. With Harry. Who was also naked and approaching full staff and could sure as hell feel the damning evidence leaking out of his arse.

Falling out of the bed was not his finest moment, but given the ludicrous situation, Harry felt perfectly obliged to land on his arse in shock. Even though the floor was freezing and his arse made a little squelching sound he would be embarrassed over until the day he died. Yes, completely justified.

If only Malfoy hadn't leant over the side of the bed, checking him over in concern and thereby revealing the expanse of his evenly muscled back.

Harry dragged a piece of discarded clothing across his lap, hoping to hide the erection that was clearly visible in the way his eyes devoured Draco.

The blond smiled, offering Harry a friendly hand back into the world of their warmed bed.

Harry accepted it slowly, sitting as far from the other man as possible and pulling the blankets back over his nudity.

Draco allowed it, lounging nakedly as though it meant nothing.

Harry shuddered as he felt a drop of pre-come join the wetness between his legs. “So...” he began awkwardly.

Draco stared at him expectantly before another light laugh slipped out. “For all your party boy reputation, you're terrible with the morning after, Potter.”

Harry grimaced. “I'll have you know—”

“All lies, I know. You were quite vehement. Especially about those rumours that you were a sadistic top who loves to make your bottoms cry.”

Harry blinked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Draco ran a confident finger along his crossed arms. “Whoever said that was dreaming,” he whispered. “You're as bottom as they come.”

Harry fell back against the pillows as Draco pushed him, staring at the blond towering over him.

Draco's fingers slid between his legs, stroking Harry's wet entrance. He brought those long fingers to his lips, licking one as Harry watched, enraptured.

“And I love making your bottom cry.”


End file.
